


subjective taste

by cleardishwashers



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Post-Canon, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:33:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23650000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleardishwashers/pseuds/cleardishwashers
Summary: shitty has heavily influenced jack's music tastes over four years at samwell. the harvard hockey team does not know this.spoilers for 4.25 - faber
Relationships: Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann, Shitty Knight & Jack Zimmermann
Comments: 28
Kudos: 195
Collections: OMGCP Hockey But Fashion Discord





	subjective taste

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to the unofficial discord for inspiring this :)

Shitty is not first-line material by any means. Not first line, not second line— no, he’s the best of the fourth line and the worst of the third, and he’s happy with that position. His time with the Samwell team (let’s be honest, with Jack) made him a better player, and that’s really all he can ask. So he gets to Harvard, and he’s seated solidly on the third line, and he gets to keep playing hockey.

The Harvard team is different. They’re all a bunch of nerds— not that Samwell isn’t a good school, but Harvard is— well,  _ Harvard. _ Once when he was stoned, he walked into the locker room, heard their D-men talking about a case, and thought he was in his criminal law class for five minutes before someone crop-dusted him and he realized what was happening. He’s honestly surprised that even two of them— Goldie and Waltz— have their head far enough out of their ass to be decent people (he tried talking to the captain outside of practice once— giant ball of white privilege), but he’s not complaining. Goldie even follows the Falcs, and when he found out that Shitty knew Jack Zimmermann, he practically busted a nut right then and there. So it’s no surprise that he’s watching Jack’s Instagram livestream  _ (“they keep making me do these stupid things, Shits, I don’t want to accidentally, like, end the stream, or post something private or something— stop  _ laughing, _ Shitty, and before you say it, I’m not  _ old—”) in the twenty minutes between their last class and when the players start trickling in for practice. “Shitty!” Goldie calls. “You want to watch the Zimmermann livestream?”

Shitty crosses the locker room and plops himself next to Goldie, who tilts the screen towards him. Shitty smiles at the image of his best friend’s face. Jack’s definitely stopped being so  _ hockey robot-y, _ and Shitty is  _ so _ proud of him, and— well, if he starts this train of thought, he’ll end up driving to Providence to smother Jack in a hug.  _ “‘Do you have any pregame rituals?’” _ Jack reads, squinting at the screen like he’s seventy-five. “Uh. Definitely. Um, my husband makes me a PB&J sandwich before every game, and I have a pregame playlist that I listen to every time—” Jack squints even more, presumably at the flood of comments saying something along the lines of  _ HUSBAND???????? _ “Oh.  _ Tabarnak. _ Well, now you guys know— I’m married. I’m a very lucky man.”

Goldie rips his gaze away from the screen and practically shouts “HOLY SHIT ZIMMERMANN’S MARRIED? HOLY SHIT SHITTY WERE  _ YOU _ INVITED???”

“Fuck  _ yeah!” _ Shitty replies, grinning like a loon. Fuck it— as soon as practice is over he’s going down to Providence. Now he’s happy all over again. “Yeah, he invited the whole Samwell team.”

“THAT’S SO FUCKING COOL OH MY GOD WAIT HIS HUSBAND IS A BAKER RIGHT DID HE CATER HIS OWN WEDDING??” Goldie asks. “OH MY GOD. THAT’S MY FAVORITE PLAYER. AND HE’S MARRIED AND YOU WERE THERE  _ SHITTY YOU HAVE TO TELL ME ALL ABOUT IT.” _

Shitty opens his mouth to reply, but Goldie holds up a hand and turns his head back to the screen. “Um. Thank you for all the well-wishes— it just happened a few weeks ago, so we haven’t made it public yet. I don’t really know how much of this I should be sharing, so… I’m just gonna get back to the questions. Yep. So, ana47 asks  _ ‘does your husband make all of the ingredients for the pb&j?’ _ Uh, he does.”

Jack keeps talking, and Shitty gets up. “Gonna take a quick shower. Tell me if he drops any more huge fucking secrets,” he tells Goldie, who nods furiously without taking his eyes away from the screen. Shitty grins.

…

A week later, Shitty is pumping the pregame jams when Goldie shoots him a look. “Why does your playlist sound exactly like Jack Zimmermann’s?” Goldie asks.

“Huh?” Shitty replies. “Wait, how the fuck do you know his pregame playlist, brah?”

“He talked about it. On his livestream,” Goldie says, like it’s obvious. “So, was that just one big Samwell thing, or…”

“That  _ fucker,” _ Shitty replies. “That  _ bastard. _ Beautiful bastard, but bastard nonetheless.”

“So you were friends, or…”

_ “Friends? _ Goldilocks, we are  _ best _ friends! I slept in his bed not a week ago! That  _ motherfucker _ got his playlist from  _ me!” _

“You, Shitty Knight, are…  _ best friends _ with  _ Jack fucking Zimmermann.” _

“I fucking officiated his wedding! And I would’ve been best man, if his husband wasn’t also one of my closest friends in the entire fucking world, and if Tater wasn’t also in the running. Big-ass Russian motherfucker.”

“Tater. As in…  _ Alexei Mashkov.” _

“Yes!”

“I think I need a minute.”

“As do fucking I! I can’t believe I wasn’t even  _ credited, _ how dare he, honestly— I swear, I’m going to hack his Spotify. He never changes his passwords.” Shitty’s not really  _ that _ upset, but he figures it’ll be funny. “Maybe during their practices.”

“You  _ know _ the Falconers.  _ Personally.” _

“I thought you knew!”

“I didn’t!”

“Well,  _ now _ I know that!” It takes all he has not to bust out laughing at the look on Goldie’s face. “Brah, you’ve known me for a year!”

“I didn’t know  _ this!” _

“Oh my God. Jack’s gonna get a fucking kick out of this.”

“Holy shit. Does  _ Falconer Jack Zimmermann _ know about me?!”

“Yeah, bro.”

Goldie blinks— once, twice— and then he half-sits, half-falls into his cubby.

“You okay, Goldilocks?”

Goldie blinks again. “Holy shit.”

…

As retribution, Shitty logs into Jack’s Spotify, creates a playlist made solely out of heavy metal bands, and starts blaring it from Jack’s phone in the middle of a Falcs practice. In Jack’s next livestream, he makes sure to credit “my asshole friend Shitty” for the playlist.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!


End file.
